a little sweet, a little slow
by welcometonerdworld
Summary: Domestic pregnancy Jily: in which Lily decides to make a cake at two in the morning, and James helps out. Cover art by viria.


**for padfootdidit on tumblr; congrats for doing amazingly in your gcses! here's a bit of domestic pregnancy jily for you :)**

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There's something decidedly irritating about being awake at two in the morning. Especially since she is pregnant and pregnancy cravings suck and her husband snores louder than a bloody volcanic eruption. The windows are rattling and Lily can't decide if she's hot or cold and her stomach is starting to rumble, so she heaves herself out of bed and thumps down to the kitchen, resting her hands on the bump of her belly and stumbling through pitch black corridors, trying not to fall down the stairs.

She scrambles blindly for the light switch (she'd left her wand upstairs) and flicks it on, wincing immediately at the harsh yellow of the bulbs that illuminate the otherwise dark kitchen. Peering out of the window, she sees that the rattling windows that have been keeping her awake are due to a heavy storm. Rain beats down onto the pavement outside, making little puddles in the crevices and dips of the ground, puddles that remind Lily of simpler times, of skipping around in neon green wellies and splashing her sister's pristine dresses.

She turns away from the window and to the cupboards, pulling them open with a dramatic flourish only to find a distinct lack of food. There's flour, though, and a few eggs in the fridge, and Lily is just wondering where on earth the chocolate is when a pair of arms wrap around her swollen belly.

Tensing for a split second, she assumes the worst. Adrenaline surges through her veins as her thoughts scatter, in spite of all the training she's been through (what's going on; where the fuck is my wand; the baby, what about the baby) and then she notices. The arms around her waist are a familiar shade of brown, with a smattering of dark hairs, and long, talented fingers calloused from too much Quidditch.

She melts into him, into his gentle yet strong arms and his tall, lean figure. James rests his chin softly upon her head, asks her what she's up to. Lily twists round in his embrace, trying not to be annoyed by how she cannot hug him properly with her stomach protruding so much, and smiles. _I'm making a cake_ , she tells him, _couldn't sleep_.

He asks if it's her cravings again and she has to marvel at how well he knows her, because last week she'd been obsessed with garlic bread and this week she retches at the mere smell of it. She nods and he smiles, grabbing the butter and sugar and the chocolate she couldn't find, and starts to mix the ingredients into a bowl.

Watching him as he works, she's torn between turning the radio on for some music or just wrapping her arms around him like he'd done to her, resting her ear against his back to listen to him breathing, in and out and in and out, like clockwork, like the tide changing. She turns the knob on the radio instead, (she has months, years and eons left to listen to the beat of his body) twisting it until she arrives at an old tune she recognises. It's a little sweet, a little slow, but it still makes her want to dance.

And so she does. She pulls his hands away from the mixing bowl and places them on the curve of her spine, snaking her own arms up around his neck. Her lips curve upwards as she gazes at him, at his perpetually messy hair made even worse by his pillow, at the dark scruff on his unshaven jaw, at the pink of his lips from all the nervous biting, at the shadows that linger under his eyes, behind his lopsided glasses. She wonders, as they sway to the beat of the music, if this is what soulmates are, if he and she were destined to end up together in a crummy little kitchen halfway through baking a cake in the middle of a stormy night whilst a million other couples have not yet found each other.

Somehow, she doesn't think so. Soulmates in the stories, in the fairy tales she read as a child, never mention one holding the other's hair back whilst they vomit into the toilet; one going off to shed blood in battle and the other trying not to be angry because they had to stay. No, Lily is certain this is not what soulmates are - there is nothing already written about their lives. They are unprecedented, unpredictable, and so very very real in this house, as the song on the radio ends and Lily finishes putting together the ingredients and James greases the cake tin.

They pour the mixture into the tin and shove it clumsily into the hot oven, and when James swipes a bit of batter onto her nose, she has to retaliate. A full blown war ensues, which Lily will later insist she won despite her knowing that James was too scared to crush her for fear of hurting her or the baby. They sit at the kitchen table for the remainder of the baking time, almost too tired to exchange anything but chaste kisses and low, quiet words.

Lily pulls the cake out of the oven a few minutes early, not really caring at all on account of her grumbling stomach. James cheats and uses a quick cooling charm on it, and Lily grabs a tarnished spoon from the drawer.

They don't bother with plates or a knife, preferring instead to share the spoon and dig in greedily to the squishy sponge, consuming mouthful after mouthful of soft, warm chocolate cake. Her leg presses against his under the table and one of his sweaty hands is on top of hers so she has to use her right hand to feed herself and him, but she doesn't care. The light in the kitchen is still a bit painful on their bleary eyes, and the cake probably could have done with a bit more mixing, but the storm outside is calming down, coming to a light pitter-patter of raindrops.

They fill themselves up and then store away the rest of the cake to give to Sirius, and James waves away her concerns over the washing up, reassuring her, _I'll do it in the morning_. She refrains from pointing out that the sun will be rising in just three hours, and instead follows the lit tip of his wand, back through the dark corridors and up the nearly invisible stairs again, until she flops back against their springy mattress and puffs out her cheeks with a heavy, satisfied breath. Beside her, James clambers beneath the covers and kisses her blindly before burrowing his head into a pillow.

She is full, comfortably so, and she's carrying a baby that weighs down on her bladder far too much. James is snoring again within the following five minutes, and the rain outside is finally coming to a halt. The room is dark; the sound of her husband's beating heart rhythmic. Lily falls asleep quicker than she'd expected - but then, it always does help when you're exhausted. Perhaps being awake in the early hours of the morning does have its benefits after all.

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 **a/n:** hope you liked it! please review :)


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